


Hands

by pleasebekidding



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: AU, Alarenzo, Dalarenzo, Dalaric, Denzo, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebekidding/pseuds/pleasebekidding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on <a href="http://dalarenzos.tumblr.com/post/69282027900/dalarenzo-au-alaric-was-also-suffering-with">this heart-destroying gifset</a>.<br/>--<br/>AU in which back in the fifties, Alaric, a human with a very special ring, was also imprisoned and tortured by the Augustine project. Across three cells, Damon, Enzo and Alaric become accustomed to each other. Over time it becomes more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

It was hard, at times, to know how much time passed. Dark, down in the cells, and usually they were both too tired to breathe. Easier to doze silently.

Enzo was the first to reach out. Perhaps that shouldn’t have been a surprise to Damon but it was. He wasn’t tentative. One day – evening? Night? – Damon lay on the ground, cold, hard-packed dirt, re-growing organs that were damaged beyond the telling of it and trying not to weep over blood loss – such a waste, when she had so little to spare.

And then he felt a hand. A hand, against his hand. Weakly gripping his fingers. He gripped back, and instead of the effort exhausting him, he drew strength from it. Enzo’s hand seemed warmer than it should have been. His arm was threaded through the hole in the metal grate, all the way to the shoulder, like he knew Damon couldn’t move, and knew Damon needed to be touched, just then.

A few long moments, and Damon had the strength to move at last. He dragged himself across the ground, closer to the grate, let his fingers tangle with Enzo’s. There was very little light in the room, but Damon examined closely, the way it bounced off Enzo’s eyes, making them sparkle.

Enzo raised his hand to Damon’s face. Knuckles brushing tenderly over his cheekbones. Damon kissed that hand, weakly, and let his eyes close. Not a word from either of them. Seemed right, that way.

They slept with their heads angled together, and their hands clasped, as if there wasn’t a wall, as if there wasn’t a grate of metal, as if the ground wasn’t packed earth, as if they were the only two people in the world.

They sat with their backs to the metal, on better days, hands tangled. They rarely spoke at length. Enzo talked about home, but he seemed confused, at times, and Damon wondered how much was his memory and how much was his mind playing tricks on him. They weren’t all good days. One day Enzo would be dropped unceremoniously on the dirt in his cell still growing back some part of his brain, or regrowing his liver, and Damon would talk to him for hours, just quietly, revenge plots, who he was going to eat first. His human childhood, the civil war. Even Katherine, from time to time.

None of the healing should have taken so long. But they were kept so weak, so ill, robbed of their own blood, given only a little human or animal blood to keep alive with each day. It was hard to keep hoping. Enzo did better, found things to say that stopped Damon giving up completely. Kept him from reaching for that switch and turning his humanity off for good.

“What will you do first?”

It was Enzo, who spoke, that time. Needed something to distract himself, perhaps. He was so weak he couldn’t even move closer to Damon, who was lying on the ground, reaching through the bars, touching the back of his neck gently.

“First?”

Maybe he was being oblique on purpose. He wanted to hear Enzo speak, hear that accent, that lilting tone. Force Enzo to think about something other the pain. Enzo breathed, a little, preparing to speak. “When we leave here, Damon,” he said, with some previously undescribed mixture of irritation and sadness in his voice. Damon wasn’t sure whether the pain was part of their aim, or they just didn’t care; but healing this slowly was agony, and they were never fed enough blood to heal faster. “When we escape.”

He always spoke like it was something that was bound to happen, eventually. Damon thought about it. “Feed. Shower.”

Enzo laughed weakly. “Yes, my friend, you’ve a knack for stating the obvious. Beyond the dire necessities of the day to day.” Definitely a tone, in there, but Damon thought he could hear a smile, too. What would he do? Find Stefan. But Stefan could be anywhere. That might take some time. The very first thing he’d do, clean and fed?

Damon shifted to a more comfortable position. “What will  _you_  do?”

Enzo was still a while. “I’ll kiss you,” he said, voice muffled by the ground – still not enough energy to roll over, get comfortable, seek Damon’s hand. “I’ll take us somewhere I can kiss you for hours.”

Damon didn’t answer, just continued to lie on the dirt, fingers moving over the back of Enzo’s neck.

He woke hours later, unaware that he’d slept. Enzo had come closer, somewhere along the line, and their foreheads were touching, or would have been without the bars. Damon reached through with an arm gone numb with cold (again, not usually a problem, but malnutrition was getting chronic), stroked his fingers over Enzo’s lips, and slept a little more.

\--

Late at night, they were different. When the entire building was quiet, and holding hands because something more… intimate. A brush of an index finger across the inside of a wrist was no less intimate a gesture than the wide press of a tongue up the underside of a hard, long, proud cock would have been. If the moon was bright they locked eyes, and Enzo, who had far more optimism in regards to their ultimate emancipation would whisper about taking Damon into his mouth, or unlocking his body with his fingers, filling him up, splitting him open. Kissing him until he was shaking on a huge bed in an expensive hotel they wouldn’t leave for weeks, except to feed. Damon would listen, and contribute very little, except the occasional breathy yes, because he literally didn’t dare to dream about something that was so unlikely to come to fruition. He could see it in his mind’s eyes, as Enzo’s fingers danced across his palm. Those fingers playing across the inside of his thigh, that luscious mouth dragging across the sweat-slick skin of Damon’s stomach… he wasn’t used to intimacy of this sort. Sex was generally perfunctory, fulfilling an immediate need for some sort of release; after all, he had Katherine to release from a tomb in another sixty years, right?

But.

“We will get out,” Enzo would promise him, night after night, like a vaccination against despair. “We’ll get out, we’ll enact our revenge, we’ll burn this place to ash. We’ll do it together.” Damon would nod, send his pink tongue out to moisten dry lips.

He loved Enzo.

He thought Enzo probably knew that, though a dank basement what always smell of decaying blood wasn’t the sort of place for _nice_. He wouldn’t open his mouth and take mold-spotted air into his lungs, and breath out the words ‘I love you, Enzo’. Maybe, if Enzo was right, one day they’d find that hotel, and the fingers against the inside of his wrist would be fingers on his body, fingers _in_ his body, and he’d let an exhalation of clean breath carry the sentiment out into the world.

Maybe.

Enzo’s fingers quickened against Damon’s hand, and Damon looked up again, to watch as Enzo’s eyelids and lips swelled just a touch.

“Wish I had the energy to polish the knob,” Damon said, with a weak chuckle. “Make it a show.”

But they were exhausted, both, and Enzo slipped his hand more gently into Damon’s. “You can have my blood rations for a week if that’s a promise. Goodnight, Damon.”

And they slept.

\--

In all the time they had spent in the basement cells, neither Damon nor Enzo had seen anyone but each other, and the men who came for them. They saw few people at all. Enzo spoke fondly of a woman who used to have come – Maggie – Damon was not impressed. If she was so appalled by their treatment, why hadn’t she fought, why had she run? Still, he’d have been happy enough if she’d waltzed in just then. The boredom was almost as bad as the vivisection.

There was a rhythm, too, a rhythm to the experiments, predictable enough so that they had an idea about weekdays and weekends. And so it was one day that they were sitting back to back, against the grate, tense, because though neither of them knew exactly how to say it, they had expected that hours ago, someone would have come to fetch one or the other to play a quick round of ‘what happens if we…’

Hours.

When the door opened, it was almost a relief, though Damon prepared himself to fight with whatever he had in him; the day he stopped fighting, he might as well be dead. He scrambled to his feet and stood, shoulders hunched, in the middle of the cell. Enzo did not. Enzo didn’t move at all, not then. No use in wasting energy if it wasn’t for a good purpose.

They didn’t expect two men to enter, each holding one arm of what they assumed was another vampire. Dragging him. Unconscious, Damon assumed, since there would be no point in throwing a corpse into the third cell, except perhaps to taunt them both with blood they couldn’t drink.

The men didn’t speak. Damon said nothing, but glared in such a way that their testicles should have crawled back up into the cavities of their bodies. Enzo said nothing, but his hand shifted across Damon’s wrist.

A few minutes passed, after the men left, while Damon and Enzo contemplated the strange change in their tiny world.

“You should see if you can wake him up,” Enzo suggested.

Damon shrugged tensely. He didn’t want to share this space, this tiny scrap of space that was only for himself, and Enzo.

But he untangled his hand from Enzo’s and crawled across the space, listening hard.

“He’s dead.” He could have been wrong. But he doubted it. His sense were duller than dishwater, but he still would have heard breath rustling, a sluggish heartbeat. He could smell blood, and it made his face twitch, dark veins appearing and receding, Pavlov’s bell for a hungry vampire.

“How dead?”

Good question. If he wasn’t in rigor mortis yet there might be nourishment to be found in his veins.

“Don’t know.”

Damon lay flat on the ground, an arm reaching through the wide holes in the grate. Not far enough. He strained, flinching when an errant metal shard tore the skin of his arm. Couldn’t reach. Not even a brush of fingers so he could check the temperature. Still not breathing. Dead dead dead and full of blood. Shit. Was this a new experiment? Torture them with a meal they couldn’t get at? He forced his arm further.

“How close are you?” Enzo sounded desperate. “An inch, two? You can do it, Damon.”

“More like six,” Damon admitted. Short of dislocating his arm, thus rendering it useless, there was nothing he could do. “I can’t.”

Yes, he could hear defeat in his voice.

Of course Enzo could, as well.

“That’s that, then,” Enzo said. “You know I’m so weak I can’t even smell him starting to rot.”

Damon withdrew his arm, dragged himself across the cell to lean up against the cage wall he shared with Enzo. Enzo threaded fingers through the wire, pressed the pads against Damon’s shoulder.

“Too freshly dead,” Damon argued. “I can’t smell it either.”

There was a monstrous, painful-sounding intake of air, and though he would have denied it later, Damon jumped. The man – clearly not human; was he in transition? – got weakly to his knees, and collapsed again.

It was astounding.

Neither Damon nor Enzo said a word. What would this mean? Sharing space for two with a third? And who was he, and what was he? Transitioning? They could already hear the heartbeat.

“Do something,” Enzo said.

Why _Damon_? Just because he had the middle cell?

“Hey,” he said, without moving. “Hey. Who are you?”

The lump moved, shifted, and collapsed again. The guy managed to gather up the energy to move his head, look around, open one bleary eye – so much blood, where had it come from? – and then let it fall closed again.

“Alaric,” he said. “Alaric Saltzman.” Alaric. Funny name. Funny hair. Also funny how he was dead a minute ago and now his heart was beating. Hard, loud, rapid.

“What next?” Damon muttered to Enzo. “Not exactly a sparkling conversationalist. Are we supposed to eat him?”

Alaric sat up, pushed himself across the cell to the opposite wall. “Vampires? They’ve thrown me in here to…” he rested his forehead on his knees, looking so defeated Damon actually regretted his joke for a moment. And then he forced himself to get to his feet.

“Offer him some blood,” Enzo muttered. “He’s injured.”

Alaric flinched. “I’m fine,” he said, as he began to investigate the door, looking for weaknesses.

Damon and Enzo watched for a while, and Enzo broke the silence.

“Name’s Lorenzo. Call me Enzo. This here is Damon.” Alaric barely looked over, but nodded. “And there is no getting out of this cell.”

“Says you,” Alaric said.

“We’ve been here… together a year, more than a year.” Enzo managed to sound calm and kind, and Damon was sort of impressed. He was still hoping this idiot would make the mistake of falling asleep within reaching distance, eventually. “There’s nothing we haven’t tried, mate, so if I were you I’d conserve my strength.”

Sort of kind of Enzo not to mention that he himself had been there since six months before V-E day.

Alaric slumped against the bars. “Great,” he said, and let himself slip to the ground, arms wrapped around his knees.

They didn’t say anything else for a long time, and eventually, they slept, Alaric huddled against the far wall of his cell, Damon and Enzo holding hands through the grate.

\--

Apparently, he wasn’t transitioning. Hint one was that without benefit of blood, he was still alive, in the morning; hint two was that when they brought Damon and Enzo their thimbleful of blood the following day they brought Alaric a plate of food. He glared pointedly, and ignored it.

Enzo nudged Damon through the bars, and Damon bristled.

“You should eat,” he said. “You think a hunger strike is gonna stop them? Why are you even here? You’re not a vampire. Why are you alive?”

Alaric said nothing, beyond offering Damon a look of sheer contempt.

“If you’re gonna be a dick, this is really gonna be a long, long incarceration,” Damon said. “Eat.”

Alaric looked at the food. Damon suspected it was powdered mashed potatoes, and something that was once vaguely chicken related. It was hot – no, it was warm, but it wouldn’t stay that way.

Alaric didn’t eat. But he drank the tin mug of water, eventually.

The day dragged on.

\--

Damon should have known it was too good to be true. A few days off was longer than they’d ever seen. He did the usual; kicked and fought and gnashed his teeth, but he wasn’t strong enough. A dose of vervain, fire tearing through his veins, and they dragged him off for a round of break the vampire.

Maybe it was particularly bad; maybe it only felt that way because of the few days of blessed respite. The blood pouring from Damon’s eye sockets masked very real tears. Well, tears of blood, seemed appropriate. Without the bands on his wrists he would have torn them all apart and he wondered for the hundred thousandth time where, exactly, they were.

After a while, he let himself sort of float from his body. Bound to be some fancy psychological term for it. He just left. Floated up somewhere near the ceiling to watch as they dissected his liver, discussing the metabolism of blood, some rubbish he couldn’t follow. It seemed like a stupid plot to him. They’d never been clear about what they were doing – if these guys wanted vampires eliminated, surely he and Enzo would be long past dead? No. This was cruelty, under the guise of science. They were enjoying it.

Well, their deaths would take just as long. Well, no, they wouldn’t, because Damon didn’t have the attention span. But their deaths would be just as painful, nonetheless.

Hours later that felt like days he was dumped unceremoniously in his cell without the energy to move, sit up, fight, or speak a single word.

Enzo reached through the bars to press his fingers to Damon’s elbow. Offering comfort, if not anything actually useful.

“What did they do to him?”

Oh, right, Alaric. The unfamiliar voice.

He felt Enzo’s shrug through his fingertips. “Whatever they want, mate,” he said. “They cut us open, play with our organs, pull out our eyes, watch us heal, give us a pittance of blood and then throw us back in here. Sometimes healed, sometimes healing.”

Why was Enzo bothering with the blood bag? He wasn’t one of them. He was taking up their space, making their murmuring difficult in the dark.

“Is he alright?”

It was such an unexpected thing to hear that Damon forced himself to turn his head, forced himself to open one eye, stare at Alaric through a sheen of blood. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Few hours. Offering to let me tap a vein? Could speed things up.” He was sneering, he could feel it in his lip, but he couldn’t help it. He let his eye close again as Alaric raised an eyebrow.

“How long will it take him to heal?”

Enzo was quiet a while. “They keep us weak. You know something about vampires.”

“Yeah.”

“They starve us and pump us full of vervain,” Enzo said simply. “Good way to make sure we don’t get too frisky too fast.”

“Why?”

Enzo was silent longer.

“They have a purpose. No effing clue what that purpose might be. But mostly I think they enjoy it, to be honest.”

Damon drifted in and out of consciousness, bitterly regretting the blood he’d lost that day, feeling thin and light.

Some time later – could have been an hour, could have been five, depending on how much he’d actually slept – there was the sudden scent of blood, fresh, warm blood in the air. Damon felt his fangs slip into place, felt the veins ripple across his face. When he forced himself to open his eyes, Alaric was holding his wrist – cut, not deeply, barely more than scratched, really, but holding it over his empty water mug.

“Why?” Damon asked. Alaric glared at him, squeezing his wrist, trying to make the blood flow a little faster. Damon thought for a moment about offering to help him. But he was transfixed.

“We’re all rats in a cage,” Alaric said. “Doubt they’re gonna cut into my organs, but I’m not expecting… I can’t get any more,” he said, pushing the mug through the bars. Damon snatched it before Alaric could change his mind. Drank down the measly amount fast, wiped the side with his finger and licked that clean. He hadn’t had blood that fresh in over a year; the blood they were given was old, and lifeless, donations from hapless humans who thought they were stocking a hospital, not feeding hungry vampires. Or animals blood, which stunk and was like drinking thin soup in winter. “Thanks,” he said, pushing the mug back.

Alaric only grunted.

Shortly after, the door opened. Damon was sitting in his usual place, up against the grate with Enzo at his side. Enzo mirrored his position. Alaric was hunched by the far wall, looking ropable.

Buckets of water, not quite cold, soap, wash cloths. Great. Much as he wanted to be clean, Damon had zero motivation to strip down and wash in front of the interloper. He glared at the doctor who had come in with the security guard, carrying a third bucket.

“21051,” he said. “Looking perky.”

Damon said nothing. The doctor eyed Alaric.

“Better get you some vervain to wear,” he said.

“What?”

“Think you got yourself compelled to feed your cellmate here.” He crossed his arms.

“I’m gonna get out of here one day,” Alaric said, calmly, “and they will never find your body.”

“Not very creative,” the doctor said. “But points for bravado. Clean up. The three of you stink.”

Damon and Enzo had a ritual, now. Wash their bodies, dress again, wash each other’s faces, especially when there had been eye bleeding. Damon honestly tried not to look at Alaric at all, but he failed, and actually sucked a little air through his teeth when he caught sight of a broad, nude back, heavily scarred, prominent vampire bites here and there.

Enzo shook his head in warning.

Damon opted not to enquire.

\--

“Why are you here, mate?” Enzo asked, the next day, with the sun in the sky. “You were dead, when they dropped you in here. And then you weren’t.”

Alaric shrugged, but unconsciously fingered at a ring on his hand.

“Are you immune?”

“I doubt it,” Alaric said. “Just hard to kill.”

Seemed he wasn’t going to share any more. He was actually looking worse than Damon or Enzo, by that point. Already losing weight, since his two meals a day went untouched. He slept longer every day.

“You should eat,” Damon said. “You think dying of starvation is gonna prove something? You’re getting weak. You think we can’t hear your heart beat?”

Alaric glared. Good glare. Impressive, for a human. And then he reached for the tray of food – if you could call it that – and began to eat. Enzo and Damon watched, for a while, until Alaric rolled his eyes. “Enjoying the view? We might not have a lot of privacy here, but the two of you starin’ at me like that is doin’ nothin’ for my appetite.”

Damon shrugged, and turned away, pressing against the grate, imagining the way he’d sink into Enzo’s body if the metal were to suddenly vanish. He reached through the bars to grip Enzo’s hand, to run his thumb across Enzo’s wrist and feel his pulse. They didn’t have much, but they had that.

\--

The following day, four men came with dart guns.

It all happened so fucking quickly. Enzo was on the ground, writhing as the vervain burned through his veins, and Damon crouched angrily, ready to duck the next. But it was sent into Alaric’s cell, instead, and though he tried to hold himself up, he stumbled, and fell, unconscious in only a few moments.

“What the hell are you doing?” Damon hissed, throwing himself at the bars as the first two men entered Enzo’s cell and dragged him out. “Hey! What are you doing? Why are you taking them both?”

And shit, why did he care what they did to Alaric? He wasn’t one of them.

“Hey – hey!” Two more men entered Alaric’s cell, and dragged him out as well. “What are you doing? Come back here! Hey! Hey!”

He yelled for hours after they were gone. Felt like hours. He’d stop a while, kick the walls, the bars of his cage, and then pace, before throwing himself at the bars again. “Hey! Heeey!”

No one gave a shit. Eventually, Damon threw himself into the corner of his cell, and listened intently as if he could glean something from the far off, muffled sounds. There was nothing. He always felt as if his ears were stuffed with cotton wool, anyway. He balled his fists into his eyes, and imagined, and waited. Perhaps Alaric wouldn’t be back. That would be something, anyway. They’d get their privacy back.

Except, he was getting used to three.

The sun had begun to darken in the sky when Enzo was dragged back into the cell and dumped on the ground. Damon glared for as long as it took the guards to lock the cage door again, and then dropped to his knees, reaching through the bars. Enzo looked… well, for a vampire who’d been stuffed chock full of vervain, he looked remarkable healthy, actually. Skin flushed, less pale than he had been in all the time Damon had known him.

“What happened? Where’s Alaric?”

Enzo shook his head. “I killed him.”

Damon drew a short breath. “Oh,” he said, because they were predators and he was prey and…

“I don’t know how they made me do it,” Enzo said, pushing himself to lean against the grate. “I said I wouldn’t touch him, damned if I’m turning on one of our own – and he is, you know that, a rat in a cage the same as us, like he said – but there he was, bleeding, and they gave me something… and the bastard forgave me, Damon.”

Damon frowned, and reached through the bars to grip Enzo’s hand. “Forgave…?”

Enzo pulled his hand away, and leaned with his back to the grate. “Had my teeth in his throat – don’t even remember getting across the room. And he said… he said it was okay.”

Damon had killed… Damon had killed. Not often. He knew there was some switch in there, somewhere, something that would turn his humanity off. But he’d never even looked for it, though he’d come close in here. The memories of his mad brother tearing into debutantes put him off the desire to imagine what it would be like. And he had killed. Alaric was just a man. Right? And they were starving.

And it still felt like a crime.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Enzo laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “Quite a comfort. I liked him.”

How did he do that? Say things, without guile, say things he meant so easily?

Damon shrugged. “Okay, for a human.”

They fell silent.

Perhaps an hour later, the very dead Alaric was dragged into the third cell and dropped without fanfare on the packed earth.

Was it possible that it would happen again? Maybe that was why he was there. “What should I do?”

“Check if he’s alive. Give him some blood.” Enzo’s eyes were wide and dark and shining with relief. “Please.”

Damon crossed the cell. “He didn’t need blood last time,” he said, reaching through the bars. “No heartbeat.” He pressed two fingers easily to Alaric’s throat, over the pulse point. “Nothing. Not that…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. They waited, for what felt like hours.

\--

Some time later with the moon streaming light in the very high barred windows across the corridor Alaric spluttered awake. Weak. Heart racing like a bird’s. Enzo let out a breath, and cursed under it.

“You’re alive,” Damon said. In truth, Alaric didn’t look well. “Sort of.”

“I’m sorry,” Enzo said, fingers threading through the wire. “I didn’t…”

Alaric shifted. “My ring. Protects against… supernatural death. Makes me the perfect meal for you two, I suppose,” he said, drily, trying to sound tough when in truth he sounded exhausted. He didn’t get up off the ground. Damon shifted uncomfortably against the bars. Enzo stuck a knuckle in his back, and Damon growled.

“Go,” Enzo murmured.

“What?”

But he knew. One last glare at Enzo and he crawled across the space, to reach through the grate. Slowly, like Alaric was a cornered, injured animal, and not a man. Another look at Enzo, who nodded his encouragement. Damon’s hand reached Alaric’s shoulder, and spread out across it. Alaric flinched, but didn’t pull away, and he turned his head towards Damon in confusion.

“What are you doing? Seriously, I might be alive, but it’ll take hours before there’s enough blood in my body to be worth…”

“Shut up,” Damon said. “Not much comfort to be found in a place like this. So shut up.” His fingers moved over Alaric’s arm, to the crook of his elbow, up towards his wrist. He couldn’t bring himself to settle his hand over Alaric’s – it felt oddly like cheating – but he took a moment to imagine what it would look like, his elegant fingers closing over Alaric’s rough, calloused, working hands. Back to the shoulder. Alaric seemed to press into the touch. Christ, he was pale. Didn’t smell right, either. Damon imagined blood cells sluggishly splitting, relaxing in exhaustion.

“More than forty percent blood loss and you’re dead,” he said. “Never been this bad before.”

Damon looked over his shoulder at Enzo, who had a hungry, wistful look. He wanted to help. Maybe the nice security men would let them switch cells? Enzo could soothe Alaric while Damon wrote his memoirs in his head.

The thought of watching Enzo touch Alaric was electrifying, terrifying, completely unacceptable. Wonderful. Enzo speaking soothing words, Alaric taking it in, their eyes locked together…

“I could give you some of mine,” he said, quietly. “Blood. Amazing stuff. You’ll feel like a million bucks.”

Alaric tensed. “No.”

“Your loss,” Damon said airily, though the rebuff stung. “Wake you up, get you well… get you high, too. Better than the endless hours of boredom and despair, but by all means.” He didn’t stop, though, brushing his hand over Alaric’s arm until he thought he might actually be enjoying it more than Alaric was.

Finally Alaric opened his eyes. Cautious, hopeful. Clouded. He nodded. “Don’t kill me after,” he said.

“Like I wanna run into you for all eternity,” he said, drawing his hand back and biting into his wrist. Alaric looked sickened, and very much like he wanted to ask for a glass, but he raised himself onto his elbows and pulled Damon’s bleeding wrist towards his mouth. Another moment’s hesitation, and he closed his lips over the wound.

Damon was half hard. The sensation, or the sight of those lips moving over his wrist, the moonlight catching the tips of Alaric’s eyelashes. He really was… appealing, in a scruffy sort of way. Needed to eat more, obviously, but didn’t they all? And almost sensual in the way he was drinking. Damon glanced back at Enzo, who was watching the proceedings thoughtfully. At last Alaric tore his mouth from the well-closed wound, and rolled onto his back, curving up off the ground, scrubbing across his blood-streaked chin with the back of his hand. His head rolled on his neck.

“Fuck,” he said, quietly, before rolling again and getting onto one knee. “Is that what… is that why…”

“Siddown, mate,” Enzo warned. “You’re not as well as you feel.” But Alaric was one his feet, pacing groggily, staring at the moonlight through the bars and across the space.

He gripped the bars, following them around until he was standing in front Damon again, closing his hands over Damon’s on the bars.

If felt intrusive, for a second, and then it didn’t. Behind him, he could hear Enzo get to his feet, as well.

Damon felt his own heart race.

“Steady,” he said. Alaric opened his eyes, and met Damon’s unsteady gaze. He tightened his grip on Damon’s hands for a moment, and leaned his head against the bars.

Damon wanted to kiss him.

Instead, he extricated his fingers, and took a step back.

Alaric barely seemed to notice, at first, but he looked up sharply after a few moments and licked his lips. “Sorry,” he said, returning to his usual place against the far wall, and lying back to get some rest and heal the rest of the way.

\--

Sometimes, Damon let himself fantasize that they’d be rescued. He told Alaric and Enzo about Stefan. Told them like it was only a matter of time before Stefan showed up. He never mentioned that he’d left Stefan alone on a train platform in the middle of World War II. And since Stefan probably didn’t know that Damon had gone off to fight only a few days later in another part of Europe he doubted Stefan gave a nickel for his actual whereabouts. Still. It was a welcome fantasy, Stefan rushing in here and tearing heads from bodies.

“Anyone likely to come lookin’ for you, mate?” Enzo asked Alaric, and Alaric shrugged.

“No.”

“Not married? No brothers and sisters?”

Alaric paced irritably in the tiny space. “My wife… she’s gone, killed by a vampire. It’s how I got into the life,” he admitted, and his voice sounded reedy when he said it. “My friends don’t even know I’m in Virginia. My parents…” He shrugged again, and reached for the mug of water next to his empty food tray. “No one’s lookin’ for me,” he promised. “No one.”

Damon and Enzo stared. Hard to believe, someone like Alaric, alone in the world. “Your wife…” Enzo started. “I’m sorry, mate.”

“That was a lie. She got turned,” Alaric said, picking at a split nail. Malnutrition. “She was obsessed with vampires. It was all she could talk about. Wanting to find them, wanting to be turned. She got what she wanted. I killed the vampire who turned her, and… and then I killed her.”

Damon made a sound that he couldn’t have actually described. “How did you find her?”

“I just followed the trail of bodies,” Alaric said. “Same way I find ‘em all.”

Enzo gripped Damon’s hand. “We’re not all like that, mate. We have to feed. We don’t have to kill.”

Alaric looked sadder than Damon had ever seen him. And very much like he wanted to believe it. “I need to sleep.” And he curled up exactly where he’d been sitting, closed his eyes and drifted off.

\--

When Alaric was dragged away, a few days later, Damon and Enzo hurled abuse through the bars until the guards were gone, and Damon kicked the bars, before returning to his place on the ground to glare intently at the ground.

“Is it true? What you said? To Alaric? You don’t kill?”

Enzo shrugged. “I was in the war. I’ve killed plenty.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Enzo sat thinking for a long while. “I’ve killed,” he said. “But I don’t, if I can help it. I don’t want my life to be about that. You?”

“Probably could be a bit more careful,” Damon allowed. “But I don’t often. If you ever meet my brother, you’ll know why. Ever hear of the Ripper of Monterey?”

Enzo chuckled. “I see. One of those. Look, I don’t judge. Everything kills. But since we don’t have to – I prefer to take what I need, and send them on their way. Healed, and a little high. I don’t mind people.”

“I think they’re insufferable. Mostly.” Damon sneered. “But.”

“But Alaric,” Enzo said, and reached through the bars for Damon’s hand.

Damon took it, fingers hooking together lightly. “He’s not bad for a human,” he allowed.

Days passed. Days that became weeks and eventually, months. The had little idea how much time had passed; no need to. No need to keep track, when there was only one day of the year that had any specific meaning. Though Damon worried it was getting close.

\--

“New Year’s Eve, boys,” came a loud voice, only a few nights later. It had been a quiet few days. Alaric looked up in alarm. Damon stepped into the shadows at the back of the cell, and growled. Enzo laughed.

“Going to parade us around like zoo animals, play your party tricks?”

“Yes,” said the doctor, as a security guard loaded a dart gun with sure fingers. “Hard to believe it’s been a whole year, but here we are. Time to show the investors what they’re doing this for.”

Damon tried to dodge the dart, but failed, grunting as the fire raced through his veins. Alaric stood holding the bars of the cage, murder in his eyes. And the debacle of the previous year’s celebration began. Though this time, it began with Alaric hurling abuse at their captors as they were dragged away in chains. Which was nice.

\--

When they were returned to their cells, Alaric was pacing, furious. “What did they do? What _do_ they do? It’s New Year’s Eve – what, was it a party? Fuck this. Fuck this. What gives them the right?”

Enzo laughed. “They don’t much care about rights, mate,” he said, and Damon was suddenly annoyed that he didn’t at least sound angry. Just resigned. A few more years here than Damon had and too much of his fight had gone out of him. A few minutes later someone came with two tiny glasses of blood and Damon threw his back gratefully, but with a memorable sneer.

“What the hell,” Alaric said, smashing his hand against the wall. “I’ve been here months. You’ve been here… longer,” he said, turning to retrace his footsteps. “They cut you open, pluck out your eyes, and _you’re_ the monsters? Fuck this. Fuck this.”

Damon raised his eyebrows in interest, as Alaric threw himself onto the ground, sitting with his back up against the wall. “Fuck this.”

Enzo reached through the bars to lay his arm across Damon’s shoulder. Damon reached up, tangled their fingers together. He suddenly wondered what it would be like, if he could touch them both at once. Did he want that? Did Enzo? Damon imagined Enzo’s hotel, kisses for three instead of two.

“We have to do something,” Alaric said, quietly.

Enzo and Damon stayed silent, watching Alaric under the glow of a lone bulb, left on in the security guards’ rush to get to their own parties before midnight struck.

“Is it the only time you leave?”

Damon nodded. “Once a year, New Year’s Eve.” He licked his lips. Imagined tracing over the scars on Alaric’s body with his tongue. This angry vengeful look was a good one. Damon liked it. “You got an idea to go with that attitude, or…?”

“Not yet,” Alaric said. And a little while later, “what happens? Every detail.”

Enzo’s fingers moved against Damon’s, a gentle, reassuring rhythm. They were tired, both. “Tomorrow,” Damon said, moving to lie down.

Alaric wanted to protest.

He didn’t.

\--

Fortunately, beyond a nervous if disinterested security guard who brought Alaric a take-away hamburger, and a larger-than average blood ration for both Enzo and Damon, the following day the place was entirely quiet, and Damon had the energy to explain the whole ordeal. Taken to  a parlor of some sort where there was a cage installed, and one of them at a time would be brought out to be bled, to show the ‘investors’ what the miracle of vampire blood looked like up close and personal.

“It makes no sense,” Alaric said, shaking his head, as he stood up to pace, burger forgotten on the ground. “They don’t need to hurt you for that. If they wanted blood for healing they could just drain you. Every day if they wanted. There’s more to it than that.” Pacing, pacing. Damon watched, savoring every drop of blood. “Could you get out of the cell?” He was rubbing his wrists. Damon narrowed his eyes. Malnutrition. Weakness. Alaric’s hips were like blades, knees and elbows prominent. Might be time to convince him to drink from Damon again.

Where did that come from? Alaric was human. They were good for one thing. Feeding from. But the fire in Alaric’s eyes. Damon liked it. He liked the way Alaric moved. He wanted to see him out there in the world, free. Maybe he’d turn him. The three of them could exact revenge together.

“You need to be stronger,” Alaric said again.

“What we need,” Enzo agreed, carefully, “is blood. More blood. Fresher blood.”

Alaric stopped dead. Enzo stood up, gripping the bars, leaning. Damon stood slowly as well. Intrigued.

“I’d give him my ration,” Enzo said. “Wouldn’t be enough, not by itself, and it might bloody kill me, but I’d do it.”

Damon frowned. “Don’t be an idiot. You’d desiccate.”

Enzo shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me, mate. You know that. When things are bad they give us a little extra, up there. But daily rations… I’d give ’em to you.”

“Why me?” No, no, no, this was a bad plan. Damon’s mouth was set in a thin line. Should be Enzo. He’d been here longer. More to the point he was far less likely to fuck it up. “No. Not me. You.”

Alaric shook his head. “No. You. Because a ration of shitty old blood a day won’t make a big enough difference. But a ration of shitty old blood and some of mine as well?” Alaric looked away from Damon, and directly at Enzo. “And I can’t feed Enzo from here. You agree with me, right?”

Enzo nodded. “A year.”

“Unless we get a better chance. A year.” Alaric nodded. “Tell me you can act. You have to pretend you’re not getting any healthier. Or they’ll… I don’t know. Can you act?”

Damon gritted his teeth. This was such a bad plan. He nodded. “I can.”

Alaric stuck his arm through the grate. Damon eyed it.

Enzo gave his hip a reassuring squeeze that Alaric didn’t miss.

Damon crossed the room and crossed his arms, glowering at Alaric. “You eat everything they give you,” he said. Alaric nodded. Damon took his hand. Properly. Fingers tangled together. “This is for all three of us,” he said, as he lowered his head, and bit down.

He didn’t drink hard and he didn’t drink long, but he drank. Alaric tasted good. Clean and fresh, hot blood rushing for Damon’s mouth like it wanted to be drunk. He pulled away, and bit into his thumb, offering it back through the hole.

Alaric shook his head.

“It’ll heal you,” Damon said. “This won’t last long if they notice you’ve got a bite mark on your wrist every day. Drink.”

Hesitantly, Alaric took Damon’s thumb into his mouth, and sucked for just a second, immediately pulling back, settling himself into the dark, invisible part of the cell, in the back. Not much space there but enough for a little privacy. Damon stepped back too.

“Thank you,” he said. And to Enzo, as well.

And he prayed he wouldn’t fuck it up.

\--

Alaric suffered less than either vampire, but he suffered. His blood was drawn, he was shot full of vampire blood, his ring taken for days at a time. Somewhere along the line they found a witch, testing the limits of the ring, seeing how far they could push him before he’d die and be dumped back in his cell. It got easier for Damon to rest along that wall of his cage, throw an arm around Alaric if he was close enough, just reach fingers out to brush over his arm otherwise. Enzo would sit back and watch. He never commented, but Damon knew he was missed, in those moments, and wondered if of all the cruelties perpetrated on them by the doctors this one, forcing Damon to choose, to evaluate need every day and dole out affection and comfort based on who was hurting the worst, might be the cruelest of all.

No. The vivisection was still worse.

The weather got warmer until Alaric was always uncomfortable, as the heat and humidity built up in the damp cells. They counted days and bickered quietly about whose count was correct. They were silent on days where they were all to exhausted to speak, or rather on days when Enzo and Alaric were too exhausted to speak, and Damon knew to follow suit. From time to time he refused to drink from Alaric, when Alaric could barely move, when they could almost hear his cells repairing damage to his body, or utterly failing to. Talking quietly.

“What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get out of here?” Damon asked Alaric, one day. He hadn’t asked about what, exactly, had happened, why Alaric had been brought back with vampire blood instead of the power of the ring.

Alaric was quiet a while. “Hot shower,” he said. “And somethin’ better to eat than grey gruel and Deb’s. I tell ya.”

Damon rolled his eyes. “Prosaic.” In the background, Enzo chuckled. “Other than the obvious.”

Alaric was quiet a while. “What will you do?”

“Steal a car,” Enzo said.

“Find a hotel,” Damon added. “Nearly two years and he hasn’t even kissed me, if you can believe that.”

Alaric stilled. Damon tensed.

“Why not?”

Damon had no way to actually explaining that even the softest brush of lips through the bars would feel like a travesty, that holding hands had become a substitute for making love that would sustain him for as long as it had to. He slipped his hand into Alaric’s for the first time. Brushed his thumb across Alaric’s wrist. Let his fingers play across the rough palm. Alaric squeezed back, and Damon let his eyes close, for a moment, taking in the sensation. He glanced over his shoulder at Enzo, who was smiling small, watching intently. Enzo licked his lips. “You should come,” Damon said, deflecting. “Vampire sex, Ric. It’s a life changer.”

Alaric laughed.

It was a routine of sorts, and it was manageable.

\--

By their collective best guess it was mid-November when Alaric disappeared from his cell and never came back.

They heard – or perhaps sensed? – things changing in the floors above them. The panicked sounds, an alarm.

“You think he’s alright?”

Enzo didn’t answer.

The first day or two, nether Damon nor Enzo said a word. They just watched the cell, and the door, expecting that sometime, Alaric would reappear swearing bloody vengeance, to snarl and spit and pace the way he did. After the third day, one of the doctors and two of the guards came for Enzo.

“Where is he?” Damon growled, slapping the heel of his palm against the bars. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?” asked the doctor. Enzo didn’t bother to fight. He stumbled as the dart hit its mark, and waited to be dragged away.

“You son of a bitch,” Damon said. “Tell me where he is.”

“Your sweetheart? Alaric? You think we haven’t seen the way you all behave when you think there’s no one watching?” He locked the chains around Enzo’s wrists. Rougher than usual. Angry. “He’s dead. Take this upstairs, boys,” he said, and Damon felt his eyes close for a second.

Alaric. Dead? Not the way it was supposed to go. He caught Enzo’s heartbroken glance in the seconds before he was dragged away, into the lab.

Damon paced, kicked the door of the cell, scratched at the dirt around the base of the bars until his fingernails cracked and his fingers bled. He ignored the hot, angry tears on his cheeks, and gnashed his teeth, and lay on the ground curled into a ball. He broke his fingers when he punched the wall, and it was nearly pleasant, the agonizing knit of bones. It would ache for hours. And finally, Enzo came back.

He wasn’t in bad shape, for one of Those Days. Not physically. Hungry, weak, . As soon as the door was shut, he pressed himself against the bars, gripping Damon’s hands. They sprang apart as the door opened again, glaring at the guard who had the misfortune of being forced to bring their rations.

He put the tray on the ground, trembling, and looked up. Met Damon’s eyes, first, and they clearly frightened him, because he looked at Enzo almost right away.

“I…”

“What?” Damon spat.

He shrugged, and walked away.

Damon crouched to take the rations, and passed one through the grate to Enzo. Enzo shook his head.

“Don’t be an idiot. It’s over.”

Enzo shook his head. “No, no, it’s not. It’s six weeks until New Year’s, mate. And we are doing this. For us and for him. More than freedom. Revenge.” He shook his head. “Don’t you bloody dare lose hope on me now Damon Salvatore or so help me I will never touch you again.” His skin was graying. His cheeks were sunken. ‘Well’ was subjective. But he was fierce, more than he had been in as long as Damon could remember.

Damon slumped, pursed his mouth, and nodded, before bringing the glass to his lips. What he tasted made him want to smash the glass against the mesh. He closed his eyes, savoring it.

And he passed the other glass through the bars again. “You should. Drink this. Just one time.”

Enzo looked angry, for a second, and then he seemed to understand.

“Alaric,” he said, taking the glass. Damon nodded. Enzo inhaled over the blood – as if readying to taste wine. And then he drank.

“To Alaric,” he said, and they drank, and they slept.

\--

They talked over the plan fifty times, a hundred times. Contingency plans. They’d be left their rings, thank god, because they couldn’t get far without them. Damon would act as weak as he needed to, and the moment the cage was open he’d attack. It would be quick, brutal, and anyone who didn’t run screaming would be fair game. Out as fast as they could manage. Enzo would need to feed. They’d steal a car. Get as far away from – well, wherever the hell they were – as they could manage.

And then they’d find their hotel.

It seemed wrong that it would only be the two of them. Damon couldn’t bring himself to say it, but Enzo did, sometimes.

\--

New year’s eve. It would have been out of character for Damon to do less than snap and snarl when they came to shoot the two of them full of vervain, so he did, though he feigned weakness. They were dragged out to an armored car, and driven to the party, pushed into the cage and left while the candles were lit, while canapés were arranged artistically over the tables, while glasses of champagne were poured. They were giggled at by silly women in their best dresses, and gawked at by men who probably considered themselves patrons of science.

The plan began to go wrong almost right away, when the door was too quickly closed behind Damon. He caught Enzo’s look of horror. It didn’t matter. He was strong enough to pull the bars apart. Thanks to Alaric.

And it was a lot of fun, watching the screaming and panic. When their most hated tormentor’s heart stopped, Damon moved onto his next victim, and the next. As they’d expected, most of the guests ran.

They hadn’t expected the fire. Awful man made fibers on the tablecloths went up fast from the moment someone knocked over the first candelabra. Damon actually took a few moments to notice, as the third body fell from his arms. The guy might have been dead; Damon wasn’t paying close enough attention. Half demented from the sensation of being _full_ for the first time in years.

Only Enzo’s voice dragged him from it.

“Damon!”

Damon looked up, blood smeared across his chin, breathing heavily, turned on, acutely aware of everything that was happening in his body. The feeling of utter wellbeing, the strength of his arms and legs.

He rose to his feet, stalking across the room to the cage, and reached for the bars.

And was immediately snapped out of it.

“Ah,” he shouted. Unexpected, to hear his own voice to alien like that. The palms of his hands were pink and burned, but healed quickly. “Vervain.”

“Damon, please!” Enzo pleaded. Damon nodded, and grabbed the bars again. He could cope with pain. He’d done it before.

Except he couldn’t. It wasn’t even voluntary, the way his hands jerked back. Ridiculous. Strapped to a gurney he could take anything, but forcing himself to open these bars?

He thought of Alaric. If Alaric was here, what would he do?

One more time, and Enzo looked disbelieving, as Damon jerked his hands away again. He was sunk. There was no way. He needed the keys, but the coward at the head of this ugly venture had been the first to turn tail and run.

Damon couldn’t live with this. He blinked slowly, eyes locked on Enzo’s. There would be no long, lazy kisses. Enzo was dead. The fire was building around them. He had to leave.

“Damon, no!”

Damon blinked slowly, feeling for the switch and praying it was real. Trying to memorize Enzo’s features, so he could torture himself with them later. The curve of his lip, his eyes, almost black. The switch was within reach. All he had to do was –

“Damon!”

Another voice. Not Enzo. They both looked to the door. A security guard was standing just outside, shouting. Damon blinked again. They’d never called any of them by name. He squinted through the smoke.

“Alaric,” Enzo said. “It’s Alaric. Alaric!”

Alaric threw a bundle of keys, and Damon caught them easily. Everything else had to wait. It took him forever to find the right one but there it was. His knuckles brushed up against the metal too often, and his hands shook, and the smoke burned his eyes, but he found the key, opened the cage, and reached for Enzo, shrugging up under his arm and half-carrying, half-dragging him to the door. Past the threshold Alaric took Enzo’s other arm, and they moved quickly.

“Heard you were dead, mate,” Enzo said, and Damon couldn’t miss the note of affection in his voice.

“I have a car,” Alaric said. “We have to get out of here. Fast.” Already they could hear a fire engine, police. “This campus will be crawling with cops soon. I’d like to not be here.”

Campus. A college? Interesting.

Alaric bundled Damon and Enzo into the back seat, threw a blanket over them. Wouldn’t fool anyone but it afforded some invisibility to the casual observer. He started the car – Damon felt Enzo smile against his cheek, and couldn’t help remembering the fond way he had spoken about the way he felt driving a car with a well-tuned engine. Damon thought he could get used to it too.

“Keep still,” Alaric muttered, from the front seat. “And silent. Until I say.”

Enzo’s fingers found Damon’s, tangling together with no bars to interrupt. He tilted his head, pulling away, and angled it so their lips could brush together. Only a second. Just a promise, and then he pulled Enzo closer. He was heavy, and solid, if weak just then, and stinking of smoke. Twice they were stopped.

“Nothing in the back seat,” Alaric said, the first time.

“Nothing in the back seat,” a second voice agreed dully. “Thank you, sir. You get home now.” Damon felt Enzo tense. It had sounded like compulsion. The second time, they barely slowed down. Fifteen minutes later, Alaric spoke again.

“We’re off the campus,” he said. “You can sit up. And there’s a couple of blood bags in the bag at your feet,” he said. “The hospital has a new thing, a blood bank. One of the first in the state. Enzo, you look like hell.”

Enzo didn’t answer, in his haste to retrieve a bag. Although Damon thought it smelled stale, it was still a thousand times better than what they’d been drinking inside.

“They told us you were dead,” Damon said, leaning forward, resting against the passenger seat so he could look at Alaric’s face.”

“They didn’t lie,” he said. “No ring, and they took too much blood. But thanks to a steady diet of vampire blood the last ten months… I woke up in the morgue. Narrowly avoided killing a nurse.” He sounded sad, but not overly so. He’d hardened, in the year and a half he’d had in the cells. “They’ve been pissing themselves over it. One of the guards stole a uniform and a ring for me. Guilty conscience, I guess, although I threatened him a lot, as well. I wasn’t expecting not to be able to get into that building, though, someone must live there. Hope to hell they weren’t upstairs.”

Damon leaned back against his seat. He didn’t much care. “Just a nice early start on the revenge plan,” he said airily.

“No,” Alaric said. “People who were directly involved only.”

The commanding tone in his voice was… well, appealing.

“About that hotel,” Enzo growled, and Alaric smiled.

“On our way,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I want a state or two between us and this hell hole first.”

Healthy, safe and free for the first time in too long, Damon and Enzo dozed in each other’s arms on the back seat.

\--

The sun was coming up on the new year when Alaric pulled up in front of a hotel in Pittsburgh. He smoothly compelled the valet to take the car a few blocks away and abandon it, after removing a suitcase and what looked like a military duffel from the trunk. The way his pupils flared made Damon’s heart beat a little harder, made Enzo ball his hands into fists.

He compelled his way past the reception counter, and onto the elevator, and up to the twenty-fifth floor. Damon and Enzo watched him, following as a bellhop pushed a trolley with the luggage they could have more easily carried to their room. Damon snickered when despite having compelled them a free room and stolen a car Alaric took a moment to tip the kid, and tip him well.

Alaric dozed on the couch while Damon and Enzo showered. Thoroughly, and separately. Washing away years of deprivation and torture, washing away the smoke of the fire. Damon had never felt so clean in his life. He shaved with one of the new disposable razors Alaric had brought, and wished he could have cut his hair. Couple of days. When he could drag himself out of bed.

He’d expected some sort of joyful celebration, at this truly momentous event; events, really. Alaric alive, Damon and Enzo free. Alaric not only alive but, if he played his cards right, alive for a really long time. But here they were like strangers.

The bathroom door opened, and Enzo slipped inside. Funny how Damon had never really noticed just how tall he was. They spent so much time sitting or lying on the ground.

“Clean,” Enzo said, and he was talking about more than their skin and hair. Damon nodded, as Enzo came closer, as Enzo bracketed Damon’s face with his big hands. Those hands Damon knew so perfectly. Enzo’s kiss was fierce, determined when it came. Damon had kissed men before; never like he really meant it, and never by someone who meant it so fervently. Damon’s hands closed around Enzo’s body, warmer now, healthy, flush with blood. Enzo’s tongue slipped across his teeth, learning his mouth.

He was glad they’d never done this, never tried to do this, through those wretched bars. Sullied it.

“Alaric,” Damon muttered. Enzo nodded.

Back in the room they didn’t expect to see Alaric dressed back in blue jeans and a t-shirt, new (rather old looking) leather jacket, arms crossed and looking like he was ready to go. Turning the ugly blue ring on his hand the way he’d once turned his black one.

He gave a tight smile, and nodded. “I should go,” he said. “I, uh. I did what I came to do.”

It was Enzo who reached out first, because that was who Enzo was. He pushed the jacket off Alaric’s shoulders and shook his head. Damon stood back and watched. “No,” Enzo said, as Alaric began to protest. “No.” He threw the jacket on the couch, and pressed his hands to Alaric’s hips.

It was only then that Damon realized they’d never touched, before. Damon’s cell in the middle meant Alaric and Enzo knew each other only by proxy. He watched as Enzo crowded Alaric, the confused expression on Alaric’s face, the raw need. “No,” Enzo said again, as he ran a hand up over Alaric’s strong body, up to his face.

Alaric’s eyes closed. He seemed to be at war with himself – mind determined that this wasn’t going to happen, body insisting it was.

“Back there… we were just talking,” he said, making a pathetic attempt to step away as Enzo pulled him closer, and landed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, shifting to make it a real kiss, one Alaric couldn’t walk away from. “I never…”

Damon stepped closer, to watch, to slip behind Alaric and settle himself against the back he had missed for the last six weeks.

“Vampires on their own don’t do well,” he said, pressing his lips to Alaric’s throat. He wanted to bite. Would Alaric taste different, now? As a vampire? “Especially baby vampires. You might go on a killing spree, and you wouldn’t want that.”

Actually, a killing spree was precisely what would happen. A carefully selected killing spree. Revenge. The thought had Damon twitching in his pants, and he bit gently into Alaric’s neck. He did taste different, spicier. Healthier, he supposed. Alaric moaned gently, and made another brief and aborted attempt to extricate himself. Enzo kept him in place, hungry kisses that had Damon actually literally holding Alaric up as he sucked lazily on the shallow wound.

“This doesn’t seem right,” Alaric said, when the kiss broke.

Damon let his hands find the buckle of Alaric’s belt and unfasten it, slowly, savoring it. “Does it _feel_ right?”

Three. True enough, it was on the unconventional side – not that Damon hadn’t enjoyed a few deeply distracting nights with four hands on his body instead of two here and there but this wasn’t that. This would mean something different. Months and years with only Enzo and Alaric for company – he couldn’t give either one of them up now. Katherine, he set aside in his head, to be thought about later. Things had changed.

He pulled Alaric’s cock from his jeans, smirking at the moan it drew from his throat. “I couldn’t open the fucking cage,” he said. “If you hadn’t shown up Enzo would be dead and I’d have switched off my humanity,” he said. Enzo flinched at that, but moved, kissed Damon over Alaric’s shoulder. “We’re vampires,” Damon said, pulling his mouth from Enzo’s. “‘Right’ isn’t really that big a consideration, in case you hadn’t noticed. Seems you’ve got compulsion down pretty fast.” Alaric’s cock was getting fat in Damon’s hand. Impressive.

“Yeah,” Alaric agreed, though it seemed he’d lost interest in thinking. “Feels… good.” He turned to find Damon’s mouth, to kiss him roughly.

Enzo stepped away, pulled his shirt over his head, unselfconscious, reveling in freedom and affection and the chance to fulfill a promise made in the gulag. Stepping out of his new jeans (Alaric had guessed their sizes well) without ceremony, wielding an exuberant erection, he pulled the blankets back on the bed, and lay down, arms crossed under his head.

“Come on, lads,” he called.

Damon had to smile, turning Alaric in his arms,  still stroking him smoothly, to kiss him again; a better sort of kiss, deeper. Alaric’s tongue was heavy in his mouth, the hand on Damon’s neck rough and eager. Apparently he’d decided to stay.

\--

All promises were indeed fulfilled. Enzo kissed Damon from head to toe, blew him until Damon’s back arched up off the bed and he came for the first time in two and a half years inside the sweetest heat he’d ever felt, with Enzo’s hands pressing against his hips. Alaric lay back and watched, for a while, with his cock in his lazy hand, before instinct took over and he rolled over and bit into Damon’s shoulder, sucking lightly at the shallow wound. Damon groaned, unable to do much of anything else with tension uncoiling across his entire body.

Enzo draped across him to kiss Alaric, a stray drop of milky come mingling with the blood on Alaric’s lips. Jesus Christ, this was debauched. Fantastic. Damon let his fingers play over the strong muscle of Enzo’s back while he watched, kisses that went from passionate to plain filthy, watched as Enzo bit down on Alaric’s throat – pretty deep, he suspected, and Alaric began to rut more roughly into his own hand, until Enzo took over. Damon was sort of spellbound by the sight, and by the reassuring weight of Enzo across him. Enzo’s hands, constant companions for so long, but now with no bars to get in their way.

With a gasp of something damn near surprise, as if he’d forgotten his dick even worked right, Alaric came in thick streaks across his own body and Enzo’s side. Enzo growled, climbing the rest of the way over Damon and turning Alaric roughly onto his stomach. Damon watched spellbound as Enzo spat into his hand, and slipped it between the cheeks of Alaric’s ass, working him open with two fingers, and then three; as Alaric forced himself sloppily up to his knees, arms up above his head. His features flashed, dark capillaries rippling over his face and vanishing again. Damon reached out, took his hand, gripped it tight as Enzo spat into his hand again, slicking himself as best he could, and pressed into him.

Damon would have watched, but Alaric’s eyes were beautiful.

“You have to stay,” he murmured, as Alaric rolled his body, bit into his own lip. Alaric forced his eyes open again, parted his lips as if to speak, but only gripped Damon’s hand tighter and moaned as Enzo began to move in him.

“He’ll stay,” Enzo said, with more confidence than Damon felt, pressing a hand to Alaric’s shoulder, holding him to the bed, tethering him.

Alaric nodded, hand tightening over Damon’s, every muscle in his body straining – quite a sight – as he swayed back hard against Enzo’s thrusts, messy and sloppy and wanting. Seemed odd that it was broad daylight, but Damon was glad. Too long in the dark, straining for the slightest bit of light or warmth from the sun. It didn’t matter that it was ice cold outside. Warm enough to each other, and warming still, sweat building on their bodies.

Damon leaned to kiss Alaric’s slack mouth. Alaric leaned into it, but the kiss was barely coherent.

“Mine,” Enzo growled, territorially, and Damon grinned.

All day, they kissed and bit and fucked in every conceivable combination, until they were exhausted, and could only touch lazily.

Eventually, they slept in a pile, Damon in the middle, bracketed by his lovers, and the fact that his brain even supplied him with that word to begin with made Damon feel a little strange. But safe and free for the first time; damned if they weren’t going to make the most of it.

As sweet as it was to imagine bringing and end to whatever that fucking project was all about, this was sweeter. The tangle of limbs, the frantic sweat-soaked days and nights. Even holding hands, which they did, absently, drawing the same comfort they’d always craved from each other.

They’d take their revenge. But no one was in a rush. On a cold Philadelphia evening, three vampires lay curled together, and no bars came between them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was threatening to become a novel. But in my head; they sought their revenge together, much as Damon did in canon, but unlike that, Enzo and Alaric stopped him from leaving one member of the Whitmore family alive. They simply ended the line. Torture is not a family heirloom.  
> This story also means Damon doesn't spend the next sixty years on a series of blood binges. But for what it's worth, I'd say he still looked like that in the seventies. Just with less of a body count.


End file.
